


Plan M

by captainskellington



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff and Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-27
Updated: 2014-10-27
Packaged: 2018-02-22 21:32:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2522525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainskellington/pseuds/captainskellington
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Treat for tumblr user <em><a href="http://barricadesandliberties.tumblr.com">barricadesandliberties</a></em> who requested modern EXR!</p><p>12 unsuccessful* plans Les Amis came up with to try and get Enjolras and Grantaire together.<br/>*(...or were they?)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Plan M

**Author's Note:**

> This is also a prompt fill for an Anonymous request of "modern AU e/R who don't know about each others' feelings but les amis def know and set them up in situations where they get all flustered by the other one's hotness"...  
> I hope this wasn't too far off what you wanted!

"Okay, time for plan B," Bossuet said, tipping over to collapse onto the sofa (and Joly) with a soft thump (and a quiet "Oof," in Joly's case).

"Plan B? More like plan XYZ-two-point-oh," Courfeyrac retorted dryly, lying on top of the pool table for god knows what reason.

"Thanks for your input, Courf," Bossuet replied.

"But he does have a point," Combeferre conceded from his spot on the floor, nose buried in a notebook. "Nothing seems to be working. At all. We've literally tried everything."

They were all gathered in the basement living room of the house Joly, Bossuet and Bahorel shared with Grantaire for their biweekly ' _Somebody Please Knock Enjolras And Grantaire's Heads Together Before We All Explode_ ' (which was coincidentally the title of Combeferre’s notebook) meeting, and both Courfeyrac and Combeferre really did have a point.

Short of _literally_ knocking their heads together, they had genuinely exhausted nearly every option in their quest to get the two most stubborn men in the world to realise, _HEY, WE DIG EACH OTHER, WHAT A CHARMING COINCIDENCE!_ and actually do something about it.

Bossuet sighed and nudged Eponine with his foot. "Put on another romcom while we brainstorm. There's got to be something we've missed."

As she slithered obediently to the floor and crawled over to the TV in the corner of the room Combeferre piped up, having consulted his notes, "Hey, if it helps any, we're only actually on plan M."

The resounding groan that filled the room truly spoke volumes of their efforts.

"Thirteen plans? _Only_ thirteen?" Eponine said incredulously, switching everything on and shoving a disk at random into the player.

"What was our first try again?" Bahorel asked. He too was on the floor, but just sort of... Lying there. Face down. That was actually the first sign of life he'd given in the last hour or so.

"Well," said Combeferre, and flicked rapidly back through his notebook to the first few pages.

 

** PLAN A: CARWASH **

"Remind me why we're doing this?" Enjolras asked through gritted teeth, staring gloomily at the scene in front of him.

"Charity!" Courfeyrac chirped brightly, pushing him towards the first car and depositing a bucket beside him. "Have fun!"

("Oh my god, was that my idea?"

"Yep."

"I'd completely wiped it from memory.")

Enjolras glared after him until a sudden snigger caught his attention. He turned to see Grantaire getting to his feet on the other side of the car. He must have been there a while already as his hair was damp and curled closely to his forehead. And his shirt. His shirt was also damp. And clinging. And Enjolras _was not staring fuck off he just wasn't fully computing yet because he'd literally just woken up oh god he's hot._

"Funny, I thought you'd be all over the whole charity carwash idea. It being for a good cause and all," Grantaire grinned. And yeah, yep, there it was, that shit-eating grin that Enjolras tried so hard not to get riled up by.

("There is literally nothing sexy about a car wash."

"Yeah, but it got them talking didn't it?")

Enjolras settled for taking the high road and growled inarticulately at him before dunking a sponge in his bucket and thumping it against the car in the most mutinous way possible.

"Hey, easy!" Grantaire petted the car soothingly. "Somebody get out of the wrong side of the bed this morning?"

"No," Enjolras grumbled, scowling at the high pitched squeaking sound the sponge made against the car window. "I did, however, have to get out of bed. Before midday. Which I'm greatly opposed to. What're you so cheery about, anyway?"

Grantaire chuckled. "I'm not particularly cheery, you're just an old grumpy guts right now."

"I am not a grumpy guts," Enjolras scoffed.

"You so are."

"Am not!"

"Are too!"

"Am‒ HEY!"

Enjolras was interrupted by a spray of warm water across his face. Grantaire giggled, shaking the excess water droplets off his hands. "Are too."

"You little‒" Enjolras launched his sponge and crowed triumphantly as it smacked Grantaire dead in the centre of his face. The look of surprise revealed by the slow fall of the sponge had him laughing hard, clutching his sides with a grin.

Grantaire blinked at him in shock, eyes wide. Around them, the others had all stopped to watch, waiting to see what would happen next.

"Oh," Grantaire shook his head, a smirk creeping slowly across his face as water droplets races down his neck. "Oh, it's _on."_

Enjolras backed away slowly, still laughing as Grantaire dunked the sponge in his own bucket and raised it against him. "Hey, no, you started it, don't you‒" this time he broke off with a squeal as Grantaire wrung the sponge out over his head.

("In hindsight, that was so, so unsanitary.")

"Right!" Enjolras ducked and lifted his bucket up, arms straining under the weight of the water inside. Grantaire raised his arms to defend himself but it was entirely fruitless; Enjolras had tossed the entire contents over him before he could so much as open his mouth. Which was probably for the best, really.

Grantaire gasped and staggered backwards, his hands moving up to shove his sodden hair out of his face. His shirt was soaked through now, clinging to every inch of his body and that was probably the reason that Enjolras was so busy staring he didn't notice him reaching for something until a powerful blast of water hit him square in the chest.

"Oh my god!" Enjolras tried to block the jet of the hose with his hands but it was all he could do not to take it full to the face. He ducked behind the car but Grantaire followed him, cackling gleefully.

"Surrender!" Grantaire called, taking another step towards him, leaving Enjolras only one option.

"Never!" he cried and tackled him to the ground, the hose spiralling off madly and soaking them both further.

“I win,” Enjolras breathed, the wind knocked out of them both, Grantaire’s chest rising and falling rapidly beneath his own.

The grin was wiped off his face as soon as he realised that he was straddling Grantaire, soaking wet, in front of all of their friends, and was enjoying this way more than he should have been. He coughed, blushing suddenly, and scrambled off Grantaire, helping him to his feet.

And if they spent the rest of the car wash sneaking glances at each other when they thought nobody was looking, that was besides the point.

 

***

 

“To be fair,” said Courfeyrac. “That one very nearly worked. If nobody had been there, I bet they would have‒”

“Stop. Right. There,” Cosette said, raising a finger. “I recognise that face, you’re not going any further with that. I don’t want to hear what raunchy things you’ve fantasized about our friends doing.”

Courfeyrac grinned and blew her a kiss.

“You’re just mad because my first plan worked better than your first plan.”

“Oh, so that was the real plan B?” Bossuet asked, straining to remember.

Combeferre confirmed it from the floor.

 

**PLAN B: CLOSETTE**

“Right, Enjolras, put that one up there, and Grantaire that’ll fit in the corner there… Be right back, I just need to get another box from my car.”

Cosette smiled briefly before darting out of the room, the door swinging shut behind her.

Enjolras reached up on his tiptoes, sliding a box of Cosette’s belongings to the back of the top shelf in her new walk-in closet. Grantaire nudged another into a dark corner and blinked, peering up at Enjolras.

“What?” Enjolras asked, unable to tell that Grantaire was blushing in the lack of light.

“Uh, nothing. Is there a light in here, though? It’s hard to see…”

“Well, there’s a bulb, so there must‒” Enjolras felt along the wall. “Right, there’s no switch on the wall, it must be on the outside.” He tried the door and frowned as his hand slipped on the surface.

“What is it?” Grantaire asked, getting to his feet and brushing himself off, eyes widening as he realised just how little room was in the closet.

“There’s no… Cosette?” Enjolras called, then turned back to face Grantaire with a bewildered expression. “There isn’t a handle.”

“Oh, right, cool, so I guess we just… Chill until Cosette gets back? She shouldn’t be long,” Grantaire said, sounding unsure of himself.

“She should be back already,” Enjolras said, confirming what Grantaire was thinking.

“...Now what?”

 

***

 

“You literally just locked them in the closet together.”

“In all fairness, we don’t actually know that that didn’t work,” Marius reasoned. Cosette smiled at him.

“This is why you’re my favourite,” she said, pecking him on the cheek. He blushed.

“Dork,” said Bahorel, Feuilly and Eponine at the same time.

“Well, they both just looked fairly mortified when they came out, so I wouldn’t put any money on it,” Bossuet recalled.

“I don’t know, they were quiet for some time,” Courfeyrac said with a shrug. “What was next?”

 

** PLAN C: MOVIE NIGHT **

“That’s weird,” said Grantaire, frowning down at his phone. “Joly says he can’t make it, either.”

Enjolras joined him on the couch and sighed, scratching his head. “What did he say?”

Grantaire lifted his phone to show him the message.

**cat on lap. morally obligated to remain in same spot for rest of night. enjoy the movies x**

“So that makes Joly trapped by a cat,” Enjolras began to count on his fingers. “Feuilly and Bahorel stuck in work, Courfeyrac at his parents’, Combeferre going to pick Courfeyrac up, Jehan meditating, Bossuet in ER and Musichetta with him, Cosette and Marius on a date, and Eponine babysitting Azelma and Gavroche…Something isn’t right about this.”

Grantaire groaned and stretched, kicking his feet up on the coffee table despite Enjolras’ pointed look of disapproval. “I mean, it’s up to you, man. We can watch a couple of movies or you can call the whole thing off and reschedule for another night.”

Enjolras blew some hair out of his face and shrugged. “No, let’s do this. You want to order takeout?”

Grantaire made a noise of approval and Enjolras stood up to toss a bundle of menus at him from his desk drawer. Grantaire shuffled through the stack like they were a deck of cards, stopping at one in particular to laugh suddenly and heartily.

“What?” Enjolras leaned over the back of the couch to get a look at the menu over his shoulder. Grantaire froze when he clocked the other man’s proximity, then grinned up at him.

“This restaurant,” he said, indicating the text at the top of the page. “It’s called ‘The Malignant Otter’. What would possess you to name your restaurant that?”

Enjolras looked at him. “You speak Mandarin?”

“你很可爱,” Grantaire said with a smile.

Enjolras, for some reason, blushed. “What else don’t I know about you?”

“That would be telling,” Grantaire wiggled his eyebrows in a vaguely conspirational manner. Enjolras snorted and vaulted the back of the couch to sit beside him, entirely inelegantly. In return, Grantaire dumped the pile of menus onto his lap and dived for the rows of DVDs stacked around the TV. “You order, I’m picking the movie. Because your taste in movies sucks, and everyone knows it.”

“Hey,” Enjolras said weakly, but he didn’t push the matter because... Well, true.

Three hours, two and a half movies and no less than three pizzas later, Grantaire came to a sudden realisation.

“Joly doesn’t even _have_ a cat.”

 

***

 

“I still can’t believe they didn’t catch on at that point,” Feuilly remarked, pausing in his solo game of throwing popcorn at the TV screen and trying to hit people in the mouth as they spoke.

“ _I_ still can’t believe we even had to do this in the first place,” Combeferre muttered, adding a comment to one of the pages and scoring out another on the other side.

“I can,” Courfeyrac said, climbing off the pool table to join Combeferre on the floor. “Honestly. They’re both stubborn and in denial about various things, namely their feelings for each other. Plus, neither of them are really relationship people, so even though they _want_ it, they don’t know how to go about it. At all.”

“That doesn’t really explain some of these, though,” Combeferre said, reading the next entry in his book. “Fair enough, I think after the movie night they started to get on better ‒ kudos, Jehan ‒ but we have been going about this a roundabout way.”

Courfeyrac snorted, hooking his chin over Combeferre’s shoulder. “Well, we _did_ try talking to them, remember how that turned out?”

 

** PLAN D: THE TALK **

“Enjolras,” said Combeferre, sliding into the seat on Enjolras’ right where he was sitting just a little aside from the others after a meeting at the cafe, reading over his notes.

“We want to talk to you about something,” added Courfeyrac, dropping onto the chair on his left.

Enjolras raised his head slowly, looking suspiciously from one friend to the other and then back again. “Did you just block my escape routes?” he asked mildly.

“Yes,” Combeferre replied.

“Did you know I’m not above vaulting a table if I’m so inclined?” Enjolras closed his notebook and raised an eyebrow at his friends.

“Well, yeah, but you lack the coordination,” Courfeyrac answered with a shrug. “Anyway, back to the talking. And stop trying to send Feuilly _‘SOS’_ in morse code with your eyebrows, you look like you’ve a couple of blond caterpillars partying on your forehead.”

Enjolras glared at him only to be met with an unwavering grin. He sighed, “Alright, then, what are we talking about?”

“Well,” Combeferre looked at Courfeyrac before beginning, unsure of how to start.

Courfeyrac rolled his eyes. “ _Well_ , you know those things called ‘feelings’ that everybody has? Them. They’re what we’re talking about.”

“Alright?” Enjolras said again, slowly, the beginnings of a frown working across his forehead.

“Yeah, alright. That’s exactly what they are. They’re more than alright, it’s actually awesome if you have feelings for another person. So it’s totally okay to like somebody, and if you do you should tell them, right?” Courfeyrac, aware that he was rambling, stopped talking when he saw Combeferre’s lips twitching in amusement.

Enjolras paused for a second then grinned brightly, realisation dawning on his face as he looked delightedly between the two, “So did you two finally fucking get round to proclaiming your undying love for each other, then? Because honestly, it was starting to drive me… Oh. Shit.”

Enjolras trailed off when he realised Courfeyrac was blushing furiously and Combeferre had gone incredibly pale.

“We… I didn’t… No love was proclaimed, no, not that I don’t lo‒ I mean,” Courfeyrac stammered, blushing a deeper shade of red and avoiding Combeferre’s stare.

“What?” Combeferre managed to say after a moment, voice an octave or two higher than usual. “You don’t‒ you‒ what?”

“I’m just going to… Remove my foot from my mouth and go be somewhere that isn’t here,” Enjolras muttered, ducking under the table to crawl to freedom.

“I don’t. Not love you. I mean I‒ yeah. Oh my god,” Courfeyrac buried his face in his hands. “If you could just shoot me now, that would be cool.”

“No, I don’t think it would be,” Combeferre swallowed a strange noise and cleared his throat. “It would be kind of counterproductive to do so, in fact. Given that I… Don’t not love you, too.”

Courfeyrac peeked through his fingers. “Say that again?” he asked, hope clear in his tone.

Combeferre grinned hesitantly, “I don’t not love you? Can’t I just say ‘I love you’ instead? It’s kind of easier.”

Courfeyrac squeaked. “Do you?”

“What?”

“Love me.”

“Yes.”

“HECK.”

Combeferre laughed at the sudden outburst and Courfeyrac stared at him.

“Does this count as a proclamation of undying love?” Courfeyrac asked, and Combeferre laughed again.

“I suppose so, although you haven’t said it back.”

“Well. I love you. Just so you know. And I’m going to need you to shuffle over onto this seat next to me now so I can kiss you, if you’re okay with that.”

“More‒” Combeferre’s voice broke a little. “More than okay with that. Really.”

“Excellent.”

 

***

 

“I mean, it didn’t end _badly_ ,” Combeferre said with a slight smile, leaning back into Courfeyrac’s chest as he spoke. Courfeyrac wrapped his arms around his waist, hiding a grin against his shoulder as he nodded in agreement.

“We could have planned out what we were going to say in advance, though,” Courfeyrac mumbled against his shirt. “Not that I’m complaining about the outcome,” he added hastily.

“Is anyone here _not_ gay for each other?” Eponine wondered aloud.

“I don’t know, I’m pretty straight for Bossuet,” Joly deadpanned.

“I’m a little gay for Eponine,” Cosette admitted with a grin. Eponine gave her a cheery wave while Marius choked on his drink.

“We’re here, we’re queer, and we’re all a little sleepy so if we could hurry this all up and get to the part of the night where we all pass out in an alcohol induced haze, that would be greatly appreciated,” said Bahorel with a tip of his beer bottle.

 

** PLAN E: WARDROBE MALFUNCTION **

_“COURFEYRAC,”_ Enjolras’ yell could probably have been heard from the next couple of planets over. He was standing staring into his closet with a look of intense consternation on his face when Courfeyrac stuck his head in through the open door.

“Yessum?”

“Where are my clothes?” he turned to look at Courfeyrac with a decidedly icy gaze.

“I don’t know, where did you leave them? And what makes you think I had anything to do with moving them?”

“How did you know they were moved?” Enjolras took a step forward that was more menacing than it really had any right to be.

“Combeferre!” Courfeyrac yelped, dancing out of the doorway. A moment later, Combeferre appeared.

“Is there a problem?” he said smoothly.

“What have you two done with my clothes?”

“Hidden them until such a time when you learn to dress yourself in a manner befitting your status as a respectable member of society… Which I guess means whenever you stop dressing like a grandfather, really. And for the record it wasn’t just us, it was Jehan’s idea in the first place.”

“I do _not_ dress like a grandfather,” Enjolras grumbled mutinously.

Combeferre looked pointedly at his ugly beige sweater and ill-fitting slacks and then raised his eyebrows. “A hot grandfather, but still a grandfather. Which is why Jehan is going to take you shopping.”

Enjolras squawked indignantly. “Jehan dresses worse than I do!”

“Yes, but _he_ does it intentionally. I highly doubt you’re intending to make a statement regarding the state of the fashion industry by looking like you’ve been miraculously de-aged 50 years and kept the clothing, Enjolras.”

He had a point.

Which was why Enjolras _did_ go shopping with Jehan.

Which was why Enjolras ended up owning several pairs of skinny jeans (which admittedly _did_ make his ass look great) and a whole array of tight fitting t-shirts (which weren’t as uncomfortable as he’d been expecting) and brightly coloured sweaters.

Which was why, unbeknownst to Enjolras, when he next walked into the Musain, Grantaire took one look at him and had to go sit down at the nearest table and lay his head down on it for a minute or so.

However, what Enjolras did notice made him double take so fast it nearly gave him whiplash.

“Did he always have that many tattoos?” Enjolras hissed at Combeferre as they went to get drinks. Grantaire was sitting in nothing but a ratty white undershirt ‒ rather than the long sleeved shirts _he always wore, why would he hide that_ ‒  and the skin from the back of his neck to his elbows was absolutely covered in ink. As for his arms themselves… _Well._

“Who?” Combeferre asked innocently. Enjolras hit him lightly. “Ow, okay. Yeah, since I’ve known him. I mean, he’s gotten a couple more in the last few months, but the bulk of those have been there for years.”

(“Did you ever tell him it was Bahorel he had to thank for the sight?”

“No, actually, if I recall correctly he didn’t listen to a single word that was said for the rest of the night, so it would have been a rather fruitless exercise.”

“I still reckon I should have figured out a way to stain his undershirt, too. But then, we didn’t actually want Enjolras to keel over…”)

In the corner, Grantaire was pointedly not raising his eyes from the table, muttering a series of curses interspersed with actual sentences.

“Not… No… Who did this to me… Who hates me this much what did I ever do to deserve this… I mean when he dressed like a dork it was okay I mean he was hot but he was overwhelmingly dorky but… Now he’s an overwhelmingly hot dork the hotness has tipped the scale and overwhelmed the overwhelming dorkiness like who thought that would be an okay thing to do I am so mad at life… The universe… Everything…”

Bahorel patted his shoulder sympathetically, having stopped listening a good five minutes ago. “I think he likes your tattoos.”

Grantaire responded by way of an incoherent whimper and returned his forehead to the tabletop.

 

***

 

“That one didn’t even get us any further, it just made the sexual tension decidedly less bearable,” Feuilly said with a sigh.

“Yeah, but I _finally_ got my hands on Enjolras’ wardrobe, so I achieved my goal,” Jehan said smugly.

“Was that the only reason you actually suggested that one?” Bahorel asked.

Jehan nodded. “Admit it, it was totally worth it, he’s a much prettier sight nowadays. And Grantaire actually started wearing short sleeves, I don’t think anybody expected that.”

“Why did he used to keep his tattoos covered up, out of interest?” Marius inquired, curious.

“They’re personal, I guess he just wasn’t comfortable with having them on display all the time,” Bossuet shrugged. “It’s nice to know that he trusts us enough to show them off now, though. He’s getting more comfortable with us.” Joly, at his side, was beaming like a proud parent. Eponine, too, was smiling as she shoved another DVD into the player at random.

At the other end of the room, Courfeyrac laughed. “I’d forgotten this one was actually an attempt at getting them together,” he said, reading Combeferre’s notes over his shoulder. “Bossuet, thank you, that was definitely a unique experience.”

 

** PLAN F: MESS **

They were making signs.

They were making signs _peacefully._

They were in one of the big, spacious rooms of the house Marius had been left by his grandfather, one that was already a mess of paint and miscellaneous Amis paraphernalia and therefore could get as trashed as they damn well pleased.

Grantaire was humming along to the songs on the radio, Jehan stretched out in the sun like a cat, Combeferre was on the phone to confirm a restaurant booking for later that night, all was well and good.

And then Bossuet flicked the exact colour of paint Grantaire was using across the back of Enjolras’ shirt and darted away before he could get caught.

Enjolras turned around on feeling the impact, stretching his shirt for inspection. “Hey‒!” he said, and his eyes darted around to immediately settle on Grantaire just behind him, who was holding his paintbrush aloft, conveniently gesturing as he spoke to Marius.

Enjolras narrowed his eyes and glared at Grantaire until he sensed it and turned around.

“What?” Grantaire asked, lips twitching in amusement until Enjolras took up his own paintbrush and flicked it, spraying a neat spatter of red across Grantaire’s face. He blinked in surprise. “What was that for?”

Enjolras indicated his shirt and Grantaire took one look at it and raised his eyebrows. “That wasn’t me,” he paused, then painted a streak of green down Enjolras’ face. “That, however, was.”

“Liar!” Enjolras dipped his hand in the nearest bucket, and Grantaire found himself with blue highlights in his hair.

“This is oddly similar to that time they ended up wrestling at the carwash,” Eponine noted with interest. At her side, Cosette snorted. “I wonder if this will end the same way.”

But it was not to be, as evidenced when Bahorel bellowed “PAINT FIGHT!”, and the entire room dissolved into chaos.

In the end up, though, Grantaire _did_ have two distinct hand prints on the back of his jeans that he would neither confirm nor deny the origins of…

 

***

 

“Our spare room will never be the same,” Marius lamented.

“Nor will that shirt… And it was new, too,” Jehan sighed.

“The things we do for love,” Marius patted Jehan on the shoulder in a consolatory manner.

 

**PLAN G: “ENJONINE”**

Eponine was being strange.

Decidedly stranger than normal, even. By now, Enjolras was totally used to the peculiarities of the individuals in his friendship group; comfortable, even. But her behaviour of late was just plain _strange._

First of all, she sat on Enjolras’ lap during a meeting. Later, Feuilly informed him that his face had been a picture, and he didn’t doubt it in the slightest. It wasn’t unusual for Eponine to sit on people, but she had never before done so much as come near Enjolras in these instances.

The next day she insisted on staying by his side all day. Enjolras didn’t mind, exactly. After all, she was his friend and made for just as pleasant company as everyone else did, but at the same time he _did_ eventually get a little weirded out by her intensity, and by the end of the day he was itching to get away from her. Though that wasn’t entirely her fault, really, he just had somewhere he had to be.

By the third day it was just getting ridiculous. It was Courfeyrac’s birthday, and at his request they all went out for a meal (at which Eponine sat beside Enjolras) and then somehow they wound up at some club or other until a frankly ludicrous hour of the morning. Which Enjolras would have had no problem with ‒ and maybe even enjoyed a little ‒ had Eponine not constantly been asking him to dance and sitting so close to him and ‒ oh.

She was _flirting_ with him?!

“I’m gay, Ep,” he blurted out, not caring if he was clearly startled by his friend’s peculiar behaviour. Eponine also didn’t miss the fact that his eyes sought out Grantaire, who was staring at them with a look of amused confusion.

“I know,” she snorted and stepped back, entirely incapable of playing along any longer. “Oh god, do I know.”

 

***

 

“That was so fun,” Eponine reminisced gleefully.

“His _face_ when he thought you were being serious,” Feuilly chuckled, getting up to go retrieve another bag of popcorn.

“These next three were barely even worth a mention, they were fairly pathetic…” Combeferre was distractedly doodling in the margins of his notebook.

“They didn’t even have codenames!” added Courfeyrac.

 

** PLANS H, I, J **

“ _Plan H: Spin the bottle_ ,” he read out. “See, that one crashed before it even took off. Why did none of us realise we couldn’t rig where the bottle would end up pointing?”

“I don’t know, but Grantaire is a really good kisser, Enjolras is a lucky guy,” shrugged Feuilly. “Or he will be, at least.”

“I still can’t believe I had to kiss Enjolras,” said Marius, traumatised, his eyes glazed over. “Never again. Never. Again.”

“ _Plan I_ ,” said Combeferre, to distract Marius from the pain of remembering. “ _Buddy system_.”

“Now _that_ one was cute,” said Joly with a grin. “What’s not to love about a zoo trip where Enjolras and Grantaire spend the entire time blushing and scowling because they have to hold hands?”

“Remember how they disappeared for a while and we all got excited, but then it turned out they were so busy bickering over the morality of animals being kept in captivity that they got lost and then went to get ice cream?” Bahorel reminisced with a grin.

“I have never seen a grown man look so grumpy while eating an ice cream in front of a penguin exhibit,” Cosette laughed. “Although, they never actually stopped holding hands, you realise?”

The inhabitants of the room stilled for a moment. On the tv screen, Adam Sandler laughed at something that most likely wasn’t very funny.

“I, for one, did _not_ realise…” Jehan said with a frown, and it was obvious that it hadn’t occurred to anyone else, either. He shook his head. “What was the next one?”

“ _Plan J: impromptu car trip_ ,” Courfeyrac rolled his eyes. “Well, to be fair we didn’t actually plan this one ahead, so no surprises that it didn’t work, really.”

“But you have to admit, seeing them fall asleep on each other was totally adorable,” Bossuet remarked.

“I have so many photos,” said Eponine with a smile.

“Oh, speaking of photos,” Combeferre was onto the next page. “Did anybody have their camera for this one?”

 

**PLAN K: HALLOWEEN**

“Who,” asked Enjolras through gritted teeth. “In their right mind would let Courfeyrac dress as a police officer and _actually give him real handcuffs_.”

Grantaire laughed, already a little tipsy ‒ he had been at the party for longer than Enjolras. “Beats me. Who in their right mind let you come here without being dressed in a costume?”

He tried to point at Enjolras as he said it, but his hand was securely fastened to the bars of a radiator in the hallway of Eponine’s apartment building, the public spaces of which had been opened out for the night to host a building-wide Halloween extravaganza. Grantaire himself was literally covered in paint done in the style of a Van Gogh portrait; clothing, face and all.

He and Enjolras had found themselves handcuffed together barely moments after Enjolras had entered the building, by an enthusiastic Courfeyrac whose costume included a miniskirt and chest-baring shirt. Enjolras had made the rookie mistake of commenting on the huge lack of authenticity in the costume ‒ complete with heels ‒ that would do nothing but hinder any self-respecting police officer on the job, and was suffering for it.

He gave Grantaire an offended look. “I _am_ dressed in a costume,” he said, jerking his chin down to gesture at his t-shirt.

Grantaire peered at it. In the dim light, he could just barely make out a word that had clearly been hastily scribbled on it in Sharpie:

_**CAPITALISM** _

“See?” Enjolras grinned at him with a twinkle in his eye. “Scary, right?”

Grantaire laughed, shaking his head. “You’re such a dork,” he said fondly.

“You wouldn’t want me any other way,” Enjolras replied, bumping his shoulder against Grantaire’s with a wink.

He had to give him that one.

 

***

 

“Where _did_ you get those handcuffs from, anyway?” Feuilly asked, curious.

“I had them for my own personal reasons,” Courfeyrac replied with an exaggerated wink and an elaborate eyebrow wiggle.

Marius gave him a mildly horrified look, at which point Combeferre cracked and snorted. “His dad’s a police officer, Marius, don’t give yourself a heart attack.”

 

** PLAN L: Gavroche you little shit **

(This one wasn’t technically theirs, but Combeferre had added it in anyway.)

“You two… You and Grantaire, you do realise you should go out, right? Like, on dates. And eventually like, get married and shit if that’s what you’re up for and the law stops being an ass. Seriously. Everyone can tell you fancy the pants off each other, really. It’s just a suggestion. Just something to think about. Have a nice day.”

Enjolras didn’t even have time to ask him how the hell he’d gotten into his (locked) apartment before he was letting himself out and swinging the door shut behind him.

He blinked, and after a moment, blushed.

 

***

 

“In all fairness, one of us probably should have thought of that one,” admitted Jehan sheepishly.

“How did he know what we were doing?” Feuilly asked Eponine.

“Hell if I know,” she shrugged. “Kid knows everything. I’ve just learned to accept it as who he is.”

 

** PLAN M: ? **

“So… Now what?” Bossuet asked, enthusiastically making his way through his third bowl of popcorn and using Joly as a pillow, his boyfriend having fallen asleep somewhere around Plan G.

“Now,” Bahorel said, finally raising his face from the floor and propping himself up on his elbows. “I guess we‒ wait, did you hear that?”

The group fell silent. After a moment or two Bahorel was about to suggest that he maybe hadn’t heard anything after all, but then it came again. A thump from upstairs, followed by quickly stifled laughter.

“Grantaire must be home…” Bossuet said, checking his watch with a frown. “But he’s early, usually he doesn’t get back from night classes until at least eleven…”

“And he’s brought someone with him?” Courfeyrac’s face convulsed, mouth drooping, and they all knew exactly what he was thinking.

Was that why none of their plans had worked? _Had Grantaire found someone else?_ Someone who went to the same art class, someone with more of the same interests, _someone who wasn’t Enjolras?_

Before any of them could respond or react in any way, they heard the door at the top of the basement stairs opening. None of them were in a position to see up the passageway, so all they could do was sit in shock and listen as Grantaire spoke to… Whoever.

“...yeah, Joly works Wednesday nights, Bossuet does volunteering and Bahorel has boxing, so I guess this place stands empty like, twice a week, because we’re usually elsewhere.”

He’d told the person about them. _There was emphasis on the ‘we’._

There was a quiet response which they couldn’t make out. It must have been something funny, because as Grantaire reached the bottom of the staircase and came into view, he was turning to gaze over his shoulder adoringly at the person as he laughed. As such, he didn’t see all of his friends gathered around on his basement floor when they were supposed to be elsewhere, every single one of them.

Until it was too late.

Courfeyrac let out an outraged squeal, Bahorel a torrent of swears, and Eponine literally fell over laughing.

But not before Enjolras had seen them over Grantaire’s shoulder and managed a startled “R‒!” and tugged at his hand _which he was already holding_ to belatedly warn him.

Grantaire whipped his head around, eyes widening. “What are you all doing here?!” he asked, at the same time Jehan leapt to his feet and cried “Explain!” while pointing at their joined hands.

Grantaire’s mouth fell open as he tried to think of something to say, and when he made to let go Enjolras just tightened his grip and looked pointedly at him. Grantaire frowned as if to say ‘ _are you sure?_ ’ and when Enjolras nodded he couldn’t keep the smile from his face.

“We’re… Dating?” Grantaire said hesitantly, and Enjolras rolled his eyes with a small smile.

“We’re in a relationship, yes. Have been for a few weeks now, didn’t really feel the need to broadcast it to the nation,” he said. “Now it’s your turn; what are you doing here?” He turned to Combeferre and Courfeyrac, still on the floor. “What happened to your date night?”

“Yeah, and what about you guys? Working? Volunteering? Boxing? Tutoring?” Grantaire raised his eyebrow, and then his eyes flashed to the TV screen, where the credits of _He’s Just Not That Into You_ were rolling silently, Eponine having muted it moments before. A look of realisation began to dawn on his face. “Wait, romcoms?”

He turned delightedly to Enjolras then. “This is where they’ve been doing it!”

“Doing what?” said Bossuet, bemused.

“Plotting to get us together, of course,” Enjolras said with a smirk. “What, you really thought the both of us were so oblivious we hadn’t noticed? You guys aren’t exactly subtle.”

“My favourite was when Courfeyrac handcuffed us together then skipped off shouting ‘ _I’m Cupid!_ ,” Grantaire grinned.

“You little _shits,”_ Courfeyrac shouted, but he was grinning too. “You had us going through an entire bloody alphabet‒”

“Actually, we were only about halfway through,” Combeferre pointed out.

“ _Halfway through_ an entire bloody alphabet’s worth of plans!” Courfeyrac amended. “When? When exactly did you get together?”

Suddenly Enjolras’ face was aflame with furious blushing, and Grantaire refused to meet their eyes.

“Well, uh ‒ Cosette locked us in her closet, see, and‒”

“FUCKING NAILED IT!” shouted Cosette, punching the air triumphantly.

 

“She’s never going to let us forget that one,” Courfeyrac muttered unsportingly, glaring at Cosette. She blew him a kiss. He stuck his tongue out at her.

“That,” Bahorel stared at them in disbelief. “That wasn’t weeks ago, that was ‒ that was  _months_  ago. You guys kept that from us. For  _months?”_

“Well, you never told us that you were trying to get us together,” Enjolras shrugged, cheeks still pink. “So I think that makes us even.”

“That’s only fair,” said Combeferre pleasantly, clamping his hand over his boyfriend’s mouth so he would stop misbehaving. “At any rate, I believe a celebration is in order; we don’t have to keep making up ludicrous plans, sneaking around, or, indeed, watching romcoms. Let us rejoice and watch something that isn’t ridiculously cliched.”

“And order pizza,” muttered Joly, who apparently wasn’t as asleep as Bossuet had assumed, instead just generally being content to get used as a pillow.

The general consensus was that _yes, this was indeed a marvellous idea,_ and as such after a moment Enjolras and Grantaire joined those of their friends who were sitting on the floor. Enjolras leaned into Grantaire’s side with a content smile, and Grantaire hesitantly wrapped his arms around him as though he couldn’t believe he was actually doing it.

 

***

 

“Just out of interest, what would you guys have done if we’d managed to keep it a secret past Plan Z?” Enjolras asked later, when they were onto their second movie of the night and Grantaire had snagged Combeferre’s notebook away from him.

“Literally knocked your heads together,” Eponine replied without skipping a beat.

“Hard,” added Bossuet with a fairly manic smile.

“Multiple times,” contributed Jehan in a worryingly deadpan manner.

“I’m actually considering doing that anyway, for the record,” supplied Courfeyrac. “Because, really, _four months?”_

Grantaire ducked his head behind Enjolras’ neck at this point.

“Hey! No using me as a human shield,” Enjolras nudged him with his elbow.

“Boyfriend privileges. Save me from the scary munchkin,” Grantaire said, voice muffled. Enjolras beamed at the word ‘boyfriend’.

“They’re going to be completely and utterly sickening,” Marius observed.

“Correct,” Cosette replied.

“We’re going to have to up our game.”

“Duly noted.”

Enjolras asked Combeferre for his pencil, and then he turned to a fresh page and scribbled a new entry, purely consisting of dialogue.

 

_ **OPERATION “SERVES THEM RIGHT”** _

_**B:** _

“This is literally like every bad teen romance novel ever. Locked in a closet with your crush. I’m going to die a cliche. A horrible, horrible cliche.”

“You… What? Crush? You too?”

“Wait. _What?”_

 

_**C:** _

“Come here, we might as well make the most of this. I want a cuddle.”

“Clingy one, aren’t you?”

“Shut up and come here.”

 

_**D:** _

“I think Combeferre and Courfeyrac just tried to talk to me about how I feel about you.”

“That’s ironic, considering we got our shit together before they did.”

 

_**E:** _

“So. Your tattoos.”

“...Yeah. Are… They’re not a problem, are they?”

“God, no, they’re stunning.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Just like your ass in those new jeans, then. I’m telling you, not being able to touch you in front of them is going to kill me.”

“We can always just own up. Whenever.”

“Nah, let’s make them sweat a while longer.”

 

_**F:** _

“I have paint in literally every crevice of my being.”

“That’s TMI even for me, and I, too, have been in every crevice of your being.”

“That… That’s just nasty.”

 

_**G:** _

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything!”

“You were going to, I could see you dying to laugh when Eponine was plastered against my side earlier.”

“You looked so damn alarmed, man, I can’t‒ you literally bleated that you were gay, oh my god.”

“Why did they even think that would be a good move to get us together?”

“Beats me. Maybe they thought it’d make me jealous? Or maybe they thought I hadn’t realised that you were gay and they should intervene…”

“Why are we friends with these people again?”

 

_**H:** _

“Did you really have to keep eye contact with me while you were kissing Feuilly? Because that was really uncomfortably hot and I’m still not okay about it.”

_**I:** _

“Do these guys realise they’re basically paying for us to secretly date?”

_**J:** _

“They really are running out of ideas, aren’t they? That was pathetic.”

“This whole thing was pathetic from the get-go! Although, that was admittedly the comfiest I’ve ever been travelling cross-state…”

“My shoulder thanks you for the compliment.”

 

_**K:** _

“It’s really bothering me that I can’t kiss you right now.”

“Why can’t you? Nobody’s looking.”

“...Because I’m covered in paint and then you would be too and it would totally give the game away?”

“Ahh, right. That. Later?”

“Later.”

 

_**L:** _

“Gavroche just told me to date you.”

“Huh.”

“Good advice.”

“I agree.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I originally intended this to go all the way to Plan Z but ran out of ideas! D'oh!  
> Gratuitous use of [starlard](http://starlard.tumblr.com)'s idea for Enjolras' Halloween costume, an inside joke for Plan G, and Google translate for the Mandarin. It's supposed to say "You're cute/lovely", but god knows what it actually says.
> 
> I am tumblr user [cityelf](http://cityelf.tumblr.com), the artist previously known as lucithor!  
> Have a nice day! ♥
> 
> EDIT (8/7/17): muuuuuuuuuuuch thanks to [heikun](http://archiveofourown.org/users/heikun/pseuds/heikun) and [eagle_winged_angel](http://archiveofourown.org/users/eagle_winged_angel/pseuds/eagle_winged_angel) for correcting the Mandarin! I know nothing!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [plan bb](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8530930) by [demistories](https://archiveofourown.org/users/demistories/pseuds/demistories)




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